


Realignment

by whichclothes



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-13
Updated: 2011-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-14 17:42:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/151809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whichclothes/pseuds/whichclothes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Relationships between souled vampires can be awkward. Maybe a friend can help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Realignment

  
  
  
  
**Entry tags:**   
|   
[realignment](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/realignment), [spike/angel](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike%2Fangel)  
  
---|---  
  
_**Realignment (1/1)**_  
 **TItle:**  Realignment  
 **Pairing:**  Spike/Angel  
 **Rating:**  NC-17  
 **Warning** : dub-con  
 **Disclaimer** : I'm not Joss   
 **Summary** : Relationships between souled vampires can be awkward. Maybe a friend can help. For the lovely [](http://fenderlove.livejournal.com/profile)[**fenderlove**](http://fenderlove.livejournal.com/) , who asked for Spangel on vacation with snow, cocoa, and gifts. I couldn't help the angst. Thank you to my wonderful beta, [](http://silk-labyrinth.livejournal.com/profile)[**silk_labyrinth**](http://silk-labyrinth.livejournal.com/) !

  


**  
REALIGNMENT  
**

 

Vampires weren’t meant to run law firms, not even when the lawyers were evil. And they also weren’t meant to crusade against villainy. The strain of it all was wearing on Angel, aging his immortal face and body, bowing his strong shoulders, etching permanent creases into his forehead.

Spike shouldn’t have cared. Hell, he should have enjoyed it. It was like watching a particularly bloody and glorious train wreck happen in slow motion. But instead of sitting back and waiting for the disaster to unfold, Spike seemed to have climbed right on board the train. He told himself he was only hanging about so he could watch Angel writhe—and maybe so Spike could get in a sharp word now and then—but he wasn’t fooling himself. When he saw the way Angel suffered, when Spike knew what was coming and knew there was no way to stop it, that space in his chest where his restored soul seem to live twisted painfully.

Late Monday afternoon, Spike was sitting on a desk, flirting with the pretty ginger receptionist. He saw Angel leave the conference room where he’d spent hours with Lorne, an obnoxious film star, and a delegation of some sort of demons with blue spots on their scaly skin. Angel wasn’t even glowering or stomping—he looked like a man who’d been told for the tenth time that his death sentence had been upheld. He didn’t even spare Spike a scowl as he shuffled by on the way to his office.

“Hey, cupcake,” Lorne said to Spike. He looked exhausted, too. “What’s shakin’?”

Spike jerked his chin toward the door to Angel’s office. “Himself had a rough day of it?”

Lorne sighed. “Yeah. I’d have him sing but frankly, I don’t want to hear it.”

“Yeah, you and me both,” Spike snorted.

“You know, he doesn’t have to warble a note for me to sense that the big guy could use a little soothing company.”

“That bird on four—the one with the dimples—she’s had her eyes on him for ages. I expect I could persuade her—”

“No, no. I don’t mean sex—although Angelcakes could use a healthy dose of that, too. I meant companionship. With a friend.”

Spike knew about that, about how a bloke could hunger for a sympathetic set of ears and a caring word or two. He knew that very well. He sighed. “So go on in, Greenjeans. I’ll have Harm fetch you some drinks.”

But Lorne shook his head. “Not me. And not Fred or Gunn or Wesley or the Tinman or Scarecrow either. We’ve got some trust issues between us and our fearless leader won’t open up. Besides, he needs someone who can really relate to him now. Like maybe the world’s only other souled vampire.”

Spike blinked. “But Peaches and I aren’t mates.”

Lorne tilted his head and smiled a little. “Then what are you?”

“We’re….” Spike stopped and thought. “Dunno.”

With a clap on Spike’s shoulder, Lorne replied, “Go get him, blondie.”

After Lorne walked away, Spike turned back to the receptionist. But she was deep in the middle of a phone conversation and she waved him impatiently away. Right, then. The sun was just setting. Spike would head home to his squalid flat and have a quiet evening in front of the telly. Or perhaps he’d hit a bar or two instead, down a few dozen pints, find someone for a quick shag.

But instead he found himself walking toward Angel’s office.

The office was empty. An enormous stack of papers was piled atop the desk, a pen perched on top. Spike wandered over and shuffled through the papers, but they were boring. Contracts full of parties of the first part and parties of the second part and whereases, heretofores, and bad Latin. A mug beside the papers was still half full of blood. Spike sniffed at it. Otter, but it had gone off. It must have been sitting there all day.

The private lift to Angel’s flat required a security code, but of course Spike had sussed it out ages ago. He winced as the doors swooshed closed and the lift played an instrumental version of “My Eyes Adored You.”

Angel didn’t turn around when Spike arrived in his living room. He was seated motionlessly in a big armchair, his back to Spike, gazing out over the smudgy city lights. He clutched an empty glass in one hand; the bottle of Bushmills was on the floor next to him.

Spike waited for Angel to say something. After what seemed like a very long time, Spike broke the silence with a soft, “Oi.”

“Go away, Spike,” Angel said without inflection.

Spike didn’t go away. Instead, he approached the chair and then stood beside it, staring outside. “Necrotinting’s a brilliant invention.”

“Go away.”

“My flat hasn’t any windows at all. The cockroaches can be entertaining, though.”

“Get out!”

Spike was pleased to have elicited at least some emotion from Angel. “Just wanted a bit of a visit, is all. You know, see how the other half unlives.”

Angel didn’t answer. He picked up the bottle and refilled his glass. Spike turned and grabbed the bottle away; he took a healthy swig from it, half-draining it in one go.

“Is that why you’re here? You want my booze? Go head, Spike. There’s a bottle or two left in the kitchen. Take it and leave. You can even have the Viper, not that you ever ask for permission anyway.”

“’S not why I’m here.” Spike set the bottle back on the floor.

“Then what? You need cash? You already cleared out my wallet this morning, remember? What the hell do you want?”

Spike wasn’t sure how to answer. He didn’t know what he wanted, actually. He sucked on his upper lip for a moment and then said, “How about if we go somewhere? You haven’t been in a good brawl for ages and I’ve heard there’s a nest of vamps in Canoga Park.”

Finally Angel actually looked at him. “You wanna get in a fight but they’re too much for you to handle alone? Take Gunn. Or…I don’t care. We’ve got dozens of security guys. Take some of them.”

“I can manage a few fledges just fine, Peaches. I only…I reckoned you needed a bit of a change of scenery.” He rested his hand on Angel’s shoulder.

With a roar, Angel surged to his feet. He hurled the glass against the wall, where it shattered into a million menacing-looking pieces. Whiskey splattered all over the posh carpet. Spike was too startled to react quickly; Angel grabbed his arms and shoved him back. Their boots crunched over the broken glass until Spike was slammed into the wall.

“ _What_ do you fucking _want_?” Angel shouted, his befanged face inches from Spike’s, his heavy body pinning Spike in place.

Spike vamped out too. But at the same time, he felt his cock fill. He couldn’t help it—it had been ages since anyone had touched him more than momentarily, and besides, the position he was in dredged up ancient memories of furious, bloody sex. He and Angel both had tried to forget those times when Angelus had torn into him, making Spike scream and beg for more. But Spike’s body hadn’t forgotten at all, and it responded as if it had been only a few days, not 120 years.

Angel’s yellow eyes shifted oddly when he felt Spike’s arousal. He shoved his hand between them and grasped Spike’s erection, squeezing hard. “Is that it, then? You want me to fuck you, William?”

“No,” Spike said, but at the same time he thrust his hips forward into the firm grip. It was his Sire’s voice, his Sire’s touch, and it had been so bloody long.

Angel squeezed again, almost hard enough to make Spike yelp. Then he leaned in and dragged one sharp tooth delicately along Spike’s neck. “Still a little slut,” Angel rumbled in Spike’s ear.

Spike wanted to protest—he wasn’t a slut. Never had been, really. In all his long existence he’d only shagged a few others, and if once upon a time Angelus had made him writhe and squirm and plead, well, Spike had been young then, and Angelus was his goddamn Sire.

Angel licked at the thin line of blood he’d drawn, which made Spike shudder. Spike’s hips bucked forward again and he felt that Angel was now as hard as he was.

“You’re hungry for it, aren’t you?” Angel said. “Desperate.”

“No,” Spike said again, but his voice lacked conviction even to his own ears.

Angel bit him—hard—right in the spot where Drusilla had drained Spike’s life away in a London alley. Spike groaned with an uneasy combination of pain and lust, and then Angel hooked his thick fingers into the waistband of Spike’s jeans.

Spike knew what would come next. Although his body was clearly more than willing, his mind was not. But he wasn’t at all sure there was anything he could do to stop Angel right then; and besides, they both really needed to get their ends away. So even though he knew that a rough fuck wasn’t what he wanted from Angel, he didn’t fight as Angel drank from him, and didn’t protest at Angel ripped his jeans with one savage tug.

Spike’s trousers slipped to his knees. Angel’s hand was cold around his cock, cold and hard and firm, and then Angel’s other hand worked its way between Spike and his duster so that a single blunt fingertip could delve between his arse cheeks.

“Angel,” Spike said hoarsely. “Liam. Don’t—”

But Angel moved lightning quick again, turning Spike about so his face was pressed into the smooth wall, his cock pressing uncomfortably into the plaster. Angel kicked Spike’s legs apart as far as the hobbling jeans permitted and pulled the coat up so that it was crumpled between them and Spike’s arse was exposed.

Spike did start to struggle then, but it was too late. Angel growled and grabbed his hip to still him, then dragged the head of his cock a few times up and down Spike’s crack. “So needy,” he said. “Such a greedy little slut.” His brogue was back.

“No, Liam, wait—”

Angel didn’t wait. With one hard thrust he was inside Spike, tearing delicate tissues and making muscles protest.

Spike howled and tried again to get free, but Angel’s entire weight was pinning him in place and Angel’s hands were bruising his hips, and then Angel’s fangs were digging into the tender nape of his neck.

Angel had a thick cock and it _hurt_ , Spike’s blood easing its movements only a little. And Angel was pounding into him at a punishing pace, just slamming him. The room echoed with Angel’s feral snarls and the slapping of flesh and Spike’s half-sobs, half-moans.

Spike realized that Angel’s hold on him had loosened a bit, but that Spike himself was moving of his own accord, rocking his pelvis back for deeper penetration and then forward so that his cock found friction on the wall. His hands were splayed near his head. The poet inside was wailing, crying at such brutal treatment, but the demon exulted because this was Sire and being _taken_ meant belonging.

Angel’s movements became quicker, more erratic, and the pain ebbed away a bit until it was a good ache. When Angel grunted and dug his teeth in a little deeper, Spike cried out and came, his spend smearing stickily between his body and the wall.

Angel withdrew both his cock and his teeth from Spike’s body and stepped back. Spike slowly turned, and although his mouth was open to say something, he shut it with a snap when he saw Angel’s face. Angel had shifted back and a dozen different emotions were warring across his features. Disgust won.

“Get out,” Angel said, fumbling his soft, bloody dick into his trousers.

Spike clenched his jaw tightly and pulled up his jeans. They were in tatters and wouldn't stay up, so with a snarl he ripped them off completely and then wrapped his duster tightly around himself. He hadn’t noticed when his own face reverted to human, and he told himself that the tears prickling sharply at his eyes were from the ache in his arse. He limped past Angel, who turned away as he approached.

“Copacabana” was playing in the lift as it descended.

Spike drank the horrible blood from the mug on Angel’s desk. It would help mend him, anyway. Then he stuck his head out the office door. Most of the staff had gone home, but a few of them still wandered about, dragging thick folders with them or nattering into mobile phones. Spike waited until nobody was close and then ducked out of the office and slunk down the side corridor. There was a janitorial closet there, stuffed full of brooms and mops and piles of toilet paper. When he shut himself inside there was just enough room to curl up on the floor. He made a tight ball of himself, ignoring the twinges from his torn sphincter and bruised hips. He could wait there safely while the building emptied out, and then he could make his way to the garage.

 

***

 

He meant to leave Los Angeles.

He packed a paper sack with his few belongings: a couple changes of clothing; a half case of Marlboros; a battered paperback copy of _The Scarlet Letter_ , which he’d discovered abandoned in an alley two weeks earlier. Not much to show for a century and half of existence, really, and only slightly more than he’d had when he’d been reanimated in Angel’s office.

He tucked the bag under one arm and began to walk to the door. But he froze in the middle of his flat, struck by the realization that he had no idea where he meant to go. There wasn’t a single person on the entire face of the earth who’d welcome him, who’d be pleased to see him. Buffy might tolerate him if he tracked her down, but he knew—or at least he feared—that truly she’d be wishing he'd remained dust. Dru would never tolerate him with a soul, nor could he put up with her. One of them would end up dusting the other.

He could strike out on his own.

Only, he’d never done well on his own, had he? Without Dru he’d ended up with that bloody chip in his head, and then he’d been so desperate for companionship that he’d thrown in his lot with the Scoobies. And look where that had got him.

He was a vampire. None of this should matter to him. But it did matter, and the thought that he might spend eternity without…someone…made him feel weak and dizzy. He let the bag drop to the floor, where it split, spilling his pathetic possessions onto the stained carpet.

 

***

 

He returned to Wolfram and Hart the following Monday. Nobody commented on his absence. Probably nobody had noticed. Except Angel. But Spike stayed well clear of Angel, which proved to be quite easy as Angel also appeared to be studiously avoiding him. But that left Spike at loose ends, especially since Gunn and Lorne and Wes were all preoccupied with various things; none of them would spare him more than a quick word or two, no matter how much he tried to get their attention.

So Spike ended up in the lab with Fred. She was just as busy as the others, but more polite about tolerating his presence. He even tried to help a bit, but that didn’t go very well. How was he to know that the traces of nicotine on his fingers would be toxic to the firm’s colony of miniature Fualunt demons?

Fred banished him to a stool and he sat there for hours, just watching her. Sometimes she’d pause for a few moments and have a cup of tea with him, nattering on about whatever it was she was working on. He didn’t understand most of it, but that was fine. It was nice just to have someone talking pleasantly to him, and he’d nod in all the right places.

Now and then Wes would wander into the lab, ostensibly to ask some small question, but really mostly to stammer at Fred and glare at Spike. Then he’d go away again, casting looks over his shoulder.

She stayed late every day, and on Thursday it was nearly midnight when Fred finally packed up her apparatuses and gave Spike a tired smile. By then everyone else was long gone. “I’m gonna head home for forty winks,” she said.

“But you haven’t eaten all day, love. You’re going to just dry up and blow away.”

“Girl’s gotta keep her figure. I’ll have a big breakfast.”

“No, you won’t. You’ll grab a donut on your way in.”

“Only if it’s the kind with the chocolate sprinkles.”

He slid off the stool and took her hand. “Come on, love. The secretaries always have loads of food in their break room fridge. Let’s go find you something.”

Fred frowned as if she meant to argue, but Spike tugged gently at her and she followed along.

Some of the things in the break room fridge were not edible for humans, and a few of them had been in there long enough to qualify as life forms themselves. But Spike found Fred a half of a roast beef sandwich on wheat and a strawberry yogurt that had expired only the day before and a foam box stuffed with some lovely pasta and veggies. He heated the noodles in the microwave and then sat across from her at one of the crumb-strewn plastic tables while she ate.

“You know, we just stole somebody’s lunch,” she said with her mouth full.

He grinned. “’M evil, yeah?”

She giggled, which was gratifying.

Spike leaned back in his chair and sipped at the thermos of blood he’d nicked from the fridge for himself. “The Watcher has quite a thing for you,” he said.

“Who, Wesley?” she asked, as if she didn’t know perfectly well whom he meant.

“Only Watcher here. You two have been making googly eyes at one another for ages. What gives?”

She blushed fetchingly. “Are we that obvious?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s…it’s complicated. There was Charles, and then…it’s complicated.”

“Always is, pet. But if you fancy him you should do something about it. The world marches on and chances are lost. You don’t want to be some old bird sitting in her rocking chair, bitter over passed opportunities.”

“What’s with the matchmaking, Spike?”

He shrugged and was glad he couldn’t blush as well. “Dunno. You’re good, Fred. I’d like to see you happy.”

She looked contemplatively at the empty square of foil in front of her. “Thanks. And I appreciate it. But everything’s so weird, and…and….”

“You work at a demonic law firm. Your boss is a vampire with a soul. Your boy dabbles in mojo. It’ll always be weird, love. Doesn’t mean it can’t be…be good.”

She looked up at him and sniffled a little, then smiled. “So what do you think I should do? Throw myself at him?”

“Wouldn’t take much throwing and he’s certainly ready to catch.”

After a moment of thought, Fred said, “I’ll tell you what. I’ll make you a deal.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“I’ll…I’ll do this thing with Wesley. I’ll try anyhow. But only if you tell me what’s bothering you.”

“Dunno what you mean.”

“You know _exactly_ what I mean.” Her sharp-eyed look reminded him how scary-smart she was. “You’ve been mooning around this place looking almost as miserable as when you were being dragged into hell.” She poked hard at his arm. “Yep, still not ghosty. So what is it? C’mon Spike. Give. Quid pro quo.”

“You’re much too pretty to be Hannibal Lecter.” He toyed nervously with the thermos, spinning it in his hands. “’T’s nothing. Vampire shite. Nothing you need to worry—”

“Nothing to worry my pretty little head over?”

“That’s not what I meant. It’s only, you’ve enough on your plate.”

She scooped a plastic forkful of pasta into her mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “I like a full plate. And you’re my friend, Spike. I worry about you.”

“I am? You do?” He knew he sounded like a right berk, but it was better than breaking down in tears. When was the last time someone had said something like that to him?

“Of course, silly. Now, give.” She pointed the fork at him. “It’s Angel, isn’t it?”

“No! It’s not! I only…. We…. I….”

She waited patiently for his sputtering to stop. “I’m a scientist, Spike. I observe. I notice things. You two have been dancing around each other for a while now. How come?”

He found the ceiling fascinating. “He’s…. Christ, Fred. I can’t tell _you_.”

“Why not?”

He glanced at her. She looked hurt.

“It’s…it’s complicated, yeah?”

“Always is.”

He didn’t want to tell her. But he suddenly needed to unburden himself somehow, and if he couldn’t tell Fred, then who? He sighed heavily. “Poof’s been down lately. Burdened. ‘T’s hard to see.”

“Yeah.” She nodded sadly. “He has a lot of responsibilities.”

“This place isn’t good for any of you, love.”

“But we can do so much good here!”

She looked so earnest he didn’t have the heart to argue with her. He just shook his head. “Maybe so. But it’s destroying him. And I reckoned…perhaps I could ease things for him a bit.”

She took one of his hands in both of hers. Hers were very warm, hot almost. “What did you do, honey?”

“Nothing. Went up to his flat is all. Tried to just…just talk. But the two of us…’t’s not as if we were ever much for easy conversation.”

“Well, yeah. You’re men, aren’t you?”

“We’re vampires.”

She rolled her eyes. “Still men. Okay, you went upstairs for a heart-to-heart. Then what?”

Spike’s throat made a dry clicking sound when he swallowed. “He…he misunderstood why I was there.”

“Did you fight?”

“Erm…not exactly.”

There was a long silence, and then in a whisper she said, “Did you…make love?”

He tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling again. “Not exactly.”

“Spike?” She squeezed his hand.

“We…we fucked, all right? I didn’t want to but—”

She gasped. “He _forced_ you?”

Oh, Christ. “Not exactly. It was…. We used to shag like that, once upon a time in our big bad days. A bit rough.” Well, more than bit. “Demons, yeah? I didn’t mean for it to happen this time—”

“Did you say no?”

“Well, yeah. But I was giving off mixed signals, I expect, and it can be a bit difficult to tell the difference when you’re a demon, and when you’ve a bit of rough and tumble between you in the past.”

She shook her head. “No means no, Spike. Angel’s smart enough to know that.”

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

She gave his hand another squeeze and then pulled away. “When Angel gets in tomorrow I’m gonna march right into his office and I’m gonna—”

“No!” Spike interrupted. “Please. Don’t.”

She tilted her head at him. “You’re not angry with him? After what he did?”

“No,” Spike said honestly. “He…he really thought I wanted it. And I’ve been there myself, love.” He wasn’t proud to admit that, and he didn’t relish the memory of that bathroom, of the expression on Buffy’s face.

“Okay,” she replied doubtfully. “So you’re not pissed off at him. I guess that’s one of those weird vampire things. But if it’s all forgive and forget, why are you two skulking around?”

Spike had to think about that for a few minutes, to find the right words for a complex situation, a situation he wasn’t sure he fully understood himself. He rubbed at his forehead as if that would jostle the thoughts free. “He thinks I wanted…what he did. Maybe a bit of me _did_ want it. I got off, too. And he’s repulsed by me.”

“I don’t know,” she said with a frown. “That’s not the vibe I’m getting from him. But what about you? What do you want, honey?”

“I don’t mind a shag, not really. But I want…I’d hoped for.… Bloody hell. I need more.”

Fred folded the foil into a neat little rectangle, which she stuffed into the empty yogurt container. She piled the container on top of the paper plate that had held the pasta and she set the fork there too. Then she looked up at Spike. “You want a relationship. A lover.”

Spike was a big girl’s blouse, but she was right. He nodded helplessly.

“I get it, Spike. I really, really do.”

As stupid as he felt, there was also a certain amount of relief at having expressed his sentiments. He gave her a weak but thankful smile. “Maybe we’ll have a pajama party next time. Do our nails.”

She stood, gathered her trash in one hand, and gave him a healthy punch in the shoulder. “Dork. It doesn’t kill you to talk about how you feel, you know.”

“Already dead, love. Several times over.”

She tossed the trash in the rubbish bin and then came back to the table, where she bent and gave him a sweet peck on the temple. “You’re a good guy, Spike. You deserve someone who appreciates you.”

With those false but comforting words, she left him alone.

 

***

 

Tabitha was in the midst of reviving Alistair when there was a noisy pounding on the door.

“Oi! Rent’s not due for a week!” Spike yelled, although he wasn’t certain that was true.

But the pounding came again, and it occurred to Spike that it sounded too vigorous for old Mrs. Maguire, who took fifteen minutes to make it down the stairs to his flat and usually looked ready for an ambulance when she got there. Nobody else ever came calling.

With an aggrieved sigh, Spike clicked off the telly and hauled himself off the ancient sofa. He flung the door open and was gobsmacked to discover Angel standing there, his fist raised as if he meant to knock again.

For a moment they both stared at one another, and then Spike demanded, “What?”

“Can I come in?”

“Don’t need an invite to enter a demon’s flat, berk.”

“I know, Spike. I was being polite. You ought to try it sometime.”

Spike stared at him a few seconds more and then stepped aside. He closed the door once Angel had entered.

Angel looked about. “Nice place.”

“Not all of us get the expenses-paid penthouse, wanker.”

After another awkward silence, Spike said, “Well, out with it. What do you want?” But his voice was a bit more wavery than he preferred, because a part of him feared that Angel wanted what he’d had that night in his flat at Wolfram & Hart. And, naturally, a part of him _hoped_ that was what his sire wanted. “Bugger,” Spike muttered under his breath.

“Huh?”

“Nothing.” Spike circled around Angel, leaving a wide space between them. “Did you come to give me interior decorating tips, Peaches?”

Angel shook his head. He had an odd expression on his face, one that Spike couldn’t suss out. “No. I…I need you to come with me.”

Spike crossed his arms on his chest. “Why?”

“I…. There’s these demons. And they’re...trouble.”

“And?”

“And I want your help with them.”

“What happened to Charlie and Percy and your security blokes in black?”

Angel shifted his feet uncomfortably. “It’s…kind of a special job. I need you.”

Spike chewed on his lip for a moment. If this was the big pillock’s attempt to lure him somewhere for another rough fuck, Spike didn’t understand it. Angel could fuck him just fine right here in Spike’s musty basement. Perhaps Angel meant something worse this time, but Spike couldn’t imagine what, or why Angel would make the effort. Finally, curiosity won out. Spike pulled on his duster.

Angel had traveled in some monster of an SUV, which surprised Spike but he didn’t ask about it. They didn’t speak at all, in fact, as they drove away. Spike rolled down his window and chain-smoked, while Angel hummed something too tuneless to be identifiable. The nearness of Angel’s big body made Spike both half-hard and uneasy.

They’d been on the road for ages when Spike finally turned and looked at Angel. “Where the hell are we going?” It occurred to him that perhaps Angel meant to abandon him somewhere far away. But that didn’t make sense either—Spike would find his way back to LA in a day or two from wherever he was, and besides, Angel could have assigned his goons to dumping duty.

“East,” replied Angel.

“Iowa?”

“Not quite. Big Bear.”

Spike blinked. “Are we fighting a bloody yeti?”

“No, we’re….” Angel huffed impatiently. “You’ll see when we get there. Can’t you just for once be patient?”

“I’m patient,” Spike muttered. He was. He’d stuck with Dru for a century, even when she’d left him a dozen times. He’d stalked Buffy for over a year. He’d endured the trials to earn his soul. But of course Angel would never admit that, could never see anything in Spike but his faults.

Eventually Angel pulled off the highway and they twisted their way down steep deserted secondary roads. They pulled to a stop in front of an oversized wooden cabin that was ringed with towering trees and dusted prettily with snow, looking like a banal painting of a picturesque mountain scene.

“The demons have nice taste,” Spike observed.

“Yeah, they do.”

Spike followed Angel’s lead, exiting the SUV and crunching his way across gravel to the front steps. After the ever-present noise of LA, this place seemed almost eerily quiet, and the air smelled fresher than was natural. The only lights in sight where those of the cabin itself. Even the stars were obscured by clouds, and small flurries of snow danced down, not melting on Spike’s skin. Because he was a few steps behind Angel and Angel couldn’t see him, Spike stuck out his tongue and caught a few flakes. He hadn’t done that since he was a lad; it gave him an odd sort of joy.

Angel didn’t appear to be prepared for a brawl; his shoulders were relaxed as he unlocked the cabin door and ushered Spike inside. Nobody had to invite them in, though, so clearly no humans lived there. The inside of the cabin was all granite and exposed wood, with thick rugs underfoot and flames roaring in the huge fireplace. A quick prowl about told Spike that the cabin consisted of a great room on the ground floor with a bedroom loft above. The bathroom was enormous, with a bathtub big enough for a small orgy. But there was no evidence of any demons.

As Spike conducted his short survey, Angel hovered near the door looking anxious.

“Where’s the nasties?” Spike asked.

“Um….”

“Liam?”

“Have a seat. I’ll explain.”

Thoroughly confused, Spike lowered himself into a leather chair with big rolled arms. But Angel didn’t explain, at least not straight away. Instead, he hung his coat on a hook near the door, then walked into the kitchen area. Spike couldn’t quite see what he was up to, but he could hear him puttering about: opening cupboards and clanking pots and running water. After a while a teakettle whistled merrily, and soon afterward Angel came back to Spike’s chair. He held out a large blue and yellow mug from which little wisps of steam arose.

“It’s instant. Sorry. I don’t know how to make the real kind.”

With some trepidation, Spike took the mug and peeked inside. White blobs floated in brown liquid. It smelled lovely. “You’re feeding me cocoa?” Spike asked incredulously.

“I even remembered the marshmallows. But, um, if you’d rather have tea, there’s some of that, and I had the fridge stocked with blood.”

Spike had no coherent response to that, so he sipped at his drink instead. Naturally, he burned his tongue, but that was all right. It tasted pretty good anyway, even though it wasn’t the good sort of chocolate. As Spike drank, Angel wandered the room, picking up knickknacks and putting them down, parting the heavy curtains to stare out the windows and into the darkness.

Finally, Spike set his empty mug down on a little table and licked the remnants of the froth from his lips. “Right then. Now would be a lovely time to enlighten me,” he said.

Angel paced a moment more and then planted himself solidly in front of Spike. “Yeah, okay.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “So…I had a talk with Fred the other day. Or actually, she had a talk with me. I mostly listened.”

Oh. Spike fought the urge to curl back in his chair. He didn’t say anything, but he resolutely lifted his chin.

Angel looked pained. “She said…. Christ, Spike, what did you tell her?”

“That I’d made a mistake,” Spike replied, turning his head away.

“Well, she pretty much chewed me a new one. She said I didn’t understand you.”

Spike looked up sharply at that. “You don’t. Never have.”

“Maybe not. Spike, why did you come up to my place that night?”

It took a few moments for Spike to craft a reply. Finally, in a very quiet voice, he said, “I reckoned you needed a friend.”

“You didn’t…. Jesus. You didn’t want….”

“Dunno what I want, half the time. Used to, but the soul—it bollockses things up, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Angel replied. And then, to Spike’s complete shock, his sire collapsed to his knees in front of him. “I’m sorry, Spike. God, I’m sorry. I’m always fucking sorry. You used to want—”

“I never wanted you to rape me, Liam. Not even when I was just turned. I would have said yes then, if you’d asked instead of taking.”

Angel hung his head. “I know.” Then he looked up to meet Spike’s gaze. “Do you forgive me?”

“That’s it, then? You give me a ride in the countryside and a cup of Swiss Miss and I’m meant to forget what you did?”

“No!” Angel lurched to his feet. He dug in his pocket and pulled out a set of keys, which he tossed into Spike’s lap. “The Escalade, it’s yours. Or you can have the Viper instead if you want. And here—” he ran off to one side of the room and opened a narrow door. He rustled about inside for a moment and then emerged with his arms full of bags and parcels, which he brought over to dump beside Spike’s chair. “There’s a new PlayStation in there and some bottles of 21-year-old Macallan. Other stuff, too. Um, a gold lighter with little diamonds on it. Cashmere sweater—it’s not black, though. Deep red. And—”

“Presents? You’re giving me bloody _presents_?” Perhaps this was all some sort of strange hallucination, Spike thought—or maybe the cabin was enchanted.

“Well, yeah. But if you don’t like them you can just take my Visa card and buy whatever you do want.”

Spike stood, letting the keys fall to the floor, and he pushed past Angel. “So this is your great scheme, is it? Buy me some shiny toys so I’ll tell Fred that all is well, and she’ll return to being your cheerleader?”

“No! Goddamn it!”

Spike didn’t want to hear any more. He stomped to the door and reached for the knob, intending to go out into the snow and…and fuck knew what then. Get eaten by a bloody bear.

But Angel sped over and grabbed him before he could leave. Spike tensed, preparing himself for another assault.

But all Angel did this time was turn him around—firmly but not roughly—and hold him tightly by the shoulders. “You make everything so goddamned hard, William! I’m not trying to buy you off or bribe you to get me on Fred’s good side. I’m trying to apologize, you moron! I’m trying to tell you I fucking care about you!”

Spike stopped struggling in Angel’s grip. They stood there, both of them panting a bit.

“Say again?” Spike said carefully.

“I care about you, you little idiot.” Angel’s voice had lowered and he was no longer shouting. “You irritate the hell out of me. You’re reckless and moody and you have more bad habits than I can count. And you’re _family_ , William. You get me like nobody else can. You drive me fucking crazy and even when I want to strangle your scrawny neck I dream about you. I’d rather have you at my back than anyone else on the planet.”

Perhaps Angel meant to say more. But his voice cracked and gave out and he released Spike and dropped his arms to his sides.

Spike swallowed. “I’ll never make you perfectly happy, will I?”

“No way,” Angel said with the ghost of a grin.

“That’s good then, innit?”

Angel held Spike again, but this time in a fierce embrace, big arms wrapped tightly around Spike and face buried in the crook of Spike’s neck.

Spike embraced him back.

That night they chased each other through snowbanks until they were both nearly frozen, whooping and hollering like schoolboys, and then they came inside the cabin to drink instant cocoa laced with expensive Scotch. Spike kicked Angel’s arse playing _Resident Evil_. And then they climbed up to the loft and slowly stripped until they were bare in front of each other. They climbed into the big bed and made love slowly and sweetly, then again hot and fierce, and then a third time lazily, until they lay tangled in boneless, spent heaps.

Spike mustered up just enough energy to say, “We ought to do something for Fred.”

“Mmm?” Angel sounded half asleep and as if he might indeed be dangerously happy, which he might have been if it weren’t for the unaccustomed ache in his ass.

“When we return, send her on an important mission to Big Bear. And send Percy along with.” It also occurred to Spike that perhaps Wes knew how to stick a soul on permanently. The way Spike saw it, the Watcher owed him one.

Angel chuckled, his entire body rumbling pleasantly against Spike’s. “No. Let’s keep this place to ourselves. I can send them someplace sunny and far away. Maui. I always wanted to visit there....” His voice trailed off, soon replaced by gentle snores.

Spike entertained sleepy thoughts of big vampires in Hawaiian shirts, lounging on the beach, careworn frowns replaced by relaxed smiles—until he fell deeply asleep in Angel’s arms.

 

 _  
~~~fin~~~  
_

  

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Feedback is always appreciated.


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